


Alarm

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Transylvania 6-5000 (1985)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Kissing, M/M, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 20:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21022109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Gil has, for some reason, set an alarm.





	Alarm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnnetheCatDetective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/gifts).

> For Cat's birthday!! Happy birthday, Cat!

There was a bell ringing.

Jack heard it distantly, and he groaned, raising his head from underneath the ridiculous cocoon of blankets and pillows that Gil had, bit by bit, turned their bed into. The ringing grew louder as he peeled off a Transylvanian quilt, a few cushions embroidered with the Virgin Mary (attributable to Gil’s aunt trying to drop hints) and a few more cushions embroidered with Stars of David (attributable to Gil himself, and Jack’s inability to prevent him from, out of respect for the religion that Jack did not practice, purchasing equal amounts of Judaica to the pieces of Catholic nonsense they owned), a fleece blanket…

He raised his head, and looked blearily at the alarm.

“Gil,” he said. “Did you set an alarm for five AM?”

He looked at the Gil-shaped lump under a mountain of blankets and pillows. The biggest blanket was actually printed with a rather gory depiction of Christ’s crucifixion, and did not really strike Jack as appropriate for bedding. It had been impossible thus far to determine whether it was standard Catholic appreciation for the gore of Christ’s death or a specific fascination of Gil’s aunt’s.

Gil’s head was underneath, based on the shape of the lump, the surprisingly chiselled abs of Christ himself.

“Hey,” Jack said, leaning over to turn off the alarm. After he’d slammed the top of it, the ringing lingered in his ears, and he said, “_Gil_. It’s a Saturday morning. Did you set the alarm for—Gil!”

He threw Jesus Christ on the floor, and then shoved several cushions down on top of him, peeling off a few fleecy blankets. Gil was snoring softly, wrapped around a stuffed flamingo they’d bought at the Bronx Zoo.

“_Gil_.”

“Mm? Jack?”

“Gil, did you set an alarm for five o’clock, you ass?”

“Yeah? We have that interview at six.” The words were mumbled against the flamingo’s ass.

Jack sighed. “Sweetheart, it’s a twelve hour clock. You set it for five, it goes off at the _next_ five. Five AM.”

“Mm?”

“_Gil._”

Gil grumbled vaguely, opening one sleepy blue eye, and he gave Jack such a look of pleading, somnolent confusion that Jack sighed, leaning in and nuzzling his nose against Gil’s hair, falling on top of him. Gil’s pyjamas were banana yellow, so it was best to lie on top of him, so that Jack couldn’t see them.

“You threw Jesus on the floor,” Gil complained, blinking confusedly, as if the loss of three blankets out of fifty was some sort of slight on the universe as it should be.

“There are enough Jews in this bed,” Jack said firmly.

Gil giggled, wrapping his arms around Jack’s neck, and he yawned widely.

“What time is it, Jack?” he asked.

“Gil.”

“Jack?”

“I’m gonna kill you, Gil.”

“No!” Gil protested, and Jack pressed their faces together, feeling the heat of Gil’s forehead against his own.

“We could,” Gil said plaintively, sweetly, tipping his hips up against Jack’s, “because—”

“We could _not_,” Jack said, rolling them over, and he pulled a few blankets over their heads. “We’re _sleeping_.”

“We could sleep after!”

“_Later_, Gil, I’m _tired_.”

“Sorry, Jack,” Gil said softly, pressing a peck to his lips. In the scant dawn light filtering through the curtains and the various blankets on top of them, he could scarcely make out Gil’s face, but h could feel that he was smiling sheepishly. “I _am_ sorry, I was just really excited about the McKinley interview, and I—”

“I know,” Jack murmured, cupping his cheeks. “Go to sleep before I strangle you.”

“One day, I’ll strangle _you_,” Gil said.

“And Aunt Saoirse will weep unconvincingly at my funeral.”

Gil snickered, falling forward, and Jack relaxed as he felt Gil sprawl on his chest, his face mashed against Jack’s neck.


End file.
